Affected
by Rutherford's Atom
Summary: Raphael's little obsession has become a big problem for his family. When it becomes a threat to their existence, where will their loyalties lie? A slightly darker side to Raphael's loneliness.
1. Enter

AFFECTED

Chapter 1: Enter

Raphael could almost feel the other side in front of him - a vague and dreamy limbo that was only ever visible in the wee hours of the morning. But still he waited. The light in the window still glowed steadily meaning that Brent was not home yet. So Raphael sat in the feeble light cast down over the generic alleyway. A quiet breeze brushed the back of his neck, creeping down into the crevice between his flesh and his shell. He shuddered…and scolded himself. A ninja was always in control. The thought was enough to cause a slight chuckle. He was far to drunk to even control his steps, let alone reactions. But Brent wasn't home yet, so none of that mattered. Brent was probably drinking, or maybe passed out in the bed of someone equally as desperate

What did it matter to Raphael? Escapism maybe, a surreal life that he could almost adopt as his own if he watched enough; memorised the routine? Perhaps there was a degree of such desire embedded in his actions, but to Raphael, it seemed to be the perfect cure for his loneliness. In a world where he had few friends, a barely livable life and not a single confidant Brent was a constant that would never judge him as long as he was never given the opportunity. But Raphael knew Brent, and he knew him well. He had followed him home one night after hearing his drunken and vague conversation on the far side of a near deserted bar. He was leaning into a woman wearing far too much mascara and sporting a gravity defying hairstyle; she was quick to leave.

"'Cos sometimes I just sit there in the traffic and think…you know…think, but then it hits me…a car hits me or something…a realisation, but then it leaves me and I'm alone again...cos you know, I only pay attention to stuff that is good stuff and bad stuff pays attention to me..just like you…you're bad stuff…go to my room.."

And since then he had followed and memorised all of his late night activities. There were times he wished to actually talk to Brent, to tell him that he was not as alone as he felt, but sobriety quelled the desire, reality delivering a painful reminder of Raphael's condition. Companionship without risk, but without the same warm comforts - but perhaps a cold comfort…actually, he was freezing.

Raphael spread his legs were spread wide to maintain his balance and keep his face meeting the cracked concrete of the alleyway. Monologues and dialogues raced through his head. He had gone out on the pretence of a walking meditation, although his mind was anything but clear. Irony had seemed to become his new life companion anyway. He imagined talking to Brent, telling him exactly what he was - Brent's imagined reaction varying with Raphael's mood. Whatever his delusions read, the reality was Brent would have woken up the next day doubting his own memory. That was the lighter side of Raphael's thoughts - the monologues ran to deeper and darker roots, as only drunken and lonely self-pity sessions can reach.

It was not that Raphael's brothers did not know of his new obsession, but most of the time they chose to ignore it; a selfish fear preventing its mention. Of course, that often changed in a heated argument when it became much easier to throw closeted faults into one another's face. But Donatello had quietly voiced a strong concern to Leonardo who had carefully explained that there was Nothing He Could Do. And while none of the brothers would talk of it, there was Nothing That Could Be Done.

So Raphael continued to spend his nights in the alleyway.


	2. Playground Rules

__

Chapter 2: Playground Rules

Brent staggered in the door and made it to the liquor cabinet and sat in front of it perusing his options. He took a bottle of brandy and carried it into the kitchen carefully yet shakily poured himself a generous glass. As an afterthought he added ice. Rocks on brandy. He walked over the larger of the two windows in his apartment. He leaned out and looked straight down. After a moment of hesitation a small waterfall erupted from his mouth. He spat and then took a swig of brandy, reminding himself to slow down. The trouble was that half the time the romanticised notion of stumbling into your pissy apartment and taking frequent and large swigs on hard liquor was as much of a medicine as the alcohol content. Marijuana makes it much harder to throw up though. Problem, medicine, cure.

__

The problem is not that you drink too much, the problem is why you drink too much. The symptom of that is that you drink too much.

He could have sworn that he saw movement down in the alley. Wouldn't be uncommon. Just in case, he pointed down with his brandy-hand and smiled. "Hey," he mumbled.

"Hey," Raphael mumbled as he watched Brent consume the last of the brandy. Too quick, he thought, that'll be coming up in no time. On the other hand, Brent had been known to surprise him. Such moments where rare though - Raphael knew him well.

He glanced down at his watched, surprised at how easy it came to focus. He suddenly realised he could feel the beginnings of dehydration. He needed to get back to a bar or maybe it was time for bed. It occurred to him that he hadn't even read the time off his watch, so he looked again. 3:33. By the time he found an open bar he'd have to return home anyway. Maybe he could stay here just a few minutes longer.

---

Minutes often run into hours. "Especially when deep in meditation," Raphael added as he defended his prolonged absence to his family. The elephant named Brent remained unmentioned.

"Make sure it doesn't happen again, Raphael. Mediation is about oblivious consciousness. Too much of one without the other." Splinter looked as if he was about to say more, but either he decided better of it or Raphael was not as sober as he thought because he turned and walked away without further comment.

Raphael headed for his room, hoping to lay down and sleep of the exhaustion and emotional turbulence resulting from his night out. His lack of responsibility was not to go unpunished though. Leonardo poked his head in only moments later to announce that he was required at practice. Wearily Raphael arose and headed off to his duties, all the while wondering how Brent felt this morning , although he knew Brent would probably still be sleeping last night off.

Throughout the practice session Raphael chased ghosts of Brent through his head. Inevitably Splinter noticed his lack of concentration and regularly ordered him to focus. The real result was a few extra bruises out of the sparring sessions, both on Raphael and his brothers - neither seemed very keen on pulling their punches.

Once the session was over Raphael returned to his room and collapsed on his bed. The dull ache in his head and legs registered for only a few moments before he collapsed even further into a deep sleep.

---

Consciousness abruptly kicked Raphael in the head. The dehydration had taken a stronghold in his body since his exertion. Idly he rubbed the dry roof of his mouth with his equally dry tongue. He needed water, which meant he had to get up, which in turn meant that he would have to open his eyes.

The first part of his plan was accomplished easily. The bulb that hung above him emitted a minimal amount of light so his squint dissipated within a second. Getting up wasn't too hard either. It's amazing what you can do, he mused, with the right motivation.

He crept out of his room towards the bathroom. He could hear Michelangelo and Donatello talking somewhere, which left Leonardo and Splinter still unaccounted for. Unfortunately, given the circumstances, Raphael would rather not have had to see them until he had been given the chance to reorientate himself.

Luck seemed to be paying attention to his little backwater of the universe and Raphael made it to the bathroom undetected.

He found a plastic cup under the sink and filled it with water from the tap. It wasn't refrigerator cold and it was tainted by a vague taste of dust, but to Raphael, it was gloriously refreshing and slipped easily over his parched throat. After swallowing the last mouthful in the cup he let out an obligatory sigh of relief and filled the cup up once more. He drunk a little more and then turned on the shower, slightly cooler than usual to drag him that further inch into 'fully awake'.

The running water soothed away the edgy feeling that had brought him there and before long he was singing loudly (and poorly) in a steaming hot shower. By the time he stepped out of the shower and had dried off he could barely remember the groggy feeling he had awoken to. He left the bathroom feeling fresh and perfectly capable of dealing with any enemy and possibly even his family.

He decided to test that theory and followed the voices of Donatello and Michelangelo, which wasn't hard as they were both speaking very loudly to be heard over the television. Raphael dropped down on the couch next to them. "Hey guys."

The pair stopped talking and looked at him. Michelangelo was the first to speak. "Hey Raph, what's up?"

"Nothing much, dude. Just thought I'd come and see what you two are yelling about."

"We weren't yelling," cried Donatello quickly, although clearly embarrassed by the notion.

Raphael tilted his head sceptically. "I could hear you from the bathroom."

Donatello suddenly lost his enthusiasm and dropped his vision. Michelangelo picked the conversation up, but seemed troubled. "Oh, sorry man, I guess we were just getting carried away. Did you hear what we were talking about?"

"Nah, but probably through lack of trying. Why? Were you guys talking about me or something?" he teased.

The stunned look on Michelangelo's face said it all. They _had_ been talking about him. Michelangelo stuttered through a denial.

Raphael smiled politely. "So what were you talking about then?"

Donatello suddenly regained his voice. "This documentary," he said, waving a hand towards the television. "Its fascinating. It's about the Curie's early experiments."

"Uh huh," Raphael replied flatly. "Sounds riveting, but I think I might go for a walk." His brothers were lying to him and talking about him behind his back. All he wanted was to not have to sit there and make polite conversation, wording their way around the one thing everyone wanted to talk about. Behind his back he could almost hear the pointed stares his brothers were no doubt exchanging.

"Take care, huh Raph?" Donatello offered.

"Yeah, sure thing, dude. Catcha."

With those words he almost made it out of the room. But as he reached the doorway Leonardo suddenly loomed before him. "Raph, I don't think you should be going anywhere." There was a quiet determination in his words.

"That's nice, bro, but I think I'll go anyway."

"I don't think so." Leonardo continued to stand in Raphael's path.

Raphael tried to push past Leonardo, but Leonardo simply swung himself to the side, slamming Raphael into the doorway before forcing him to stumble backwards into the room.

Michelangelo jumped up. "HEY!" he yelled, but his disapproval was unheard by Leonardo and Raphael.

Raphael quickly reacted, jumping at Leonardo, setting a very square fist in his face. "That was definitely not cool!" he yelled in Leonardo's screwed up face. Donatello then joined Michelangelo in his protest, jumping up ready to separate the two if the need arose. Although for the time being the warring pair were engaged in a heavy standoff, staring one another down. Raphael broke the stalemate though, walking angrily around Leonardo and heading for the door once more.

Leonardo hung his head in defeat. He had lost his temper and he knew it. That _never_ happened to him - the cool, calm and in control one. He heard Raphael start towards the door and felt the tension that had hung so imminently in the room, dispel. He looked up and saw another shadow approach.

"Raphael!" The commanding voice of his teacher stopped Raphael in his tracks. He slowly turned around to see Splinter standing in the opposite doorway.

He raised a defiant brow, but said nothing.

"Raphael, I do not know what purpose visiting Brent serves, but I do not believe any good can come of it. Can you not see that your family is concerned for you? I believe you should remain in the lair tonight."

The tension that had begun to build in Raphael again almost audibly cracked. He punched out angrily at the television. The glass was harder than he had anticipated though. 'The damned thing had lied to me about its strength through all those damn late night films' he thought. The irony didn't even occur to him. He tried again, hard, but still not hard enough. The glass stood strong. His knuckles did not. Blood smeared across the screen and it took his mind less than a second to equate the image with a thousand nameless slasher movies. He looked up at his teacher. "Why?! Why can't I have a friend?"

Splinter looked sadly upon Raphael's despair, understanding that the feelings of isolation would pass with time, but unable to make Raphael understand that. "You have four good friends here. And even you must be able to see that watching Brent is unhealthy. It has made you moody and violent. You no longer focus in your training. Such a distraction can prove fatal."

"Damn it, it's not like my life revolves around the guy. I just enjoy it, alright? Since when did my private life become your business anyway?!"

"As soon as your private life began affecting your relationship with your family." Splinter stared down Raphael who was by now breathing heavily with frustration.

Raphael kicked the television once more for good measure before waving a dismissive hand towards his family as he walked out the door.

---

It took Raphael longer than usual to find a wholesale store that would sell him anything - he had been running his usual sources to the point of misgivings. When he eventually did find one he made a note of the location, but knew that he couldn't return for another few weeks to avoid arousing suspicion. He didn't let that worry him. Raphael just wandered and drunk.

The streets were dark; Raphael was angry, alone and drunk. All he wanted was some company. He looked a few metres ahead and recognised the damp brick walls. It was strange that he did not even have to think to arrive here any more. The map had imprinted itself on his brain, eating away at his mind, becoming an integral part of him. Maybe he would become concerned if he wasn't focussing so hard on staying awake. As he approached he kept an eye on the movement in the bright flicker in Brent's window. Time to find out if the dreams or the nightmares were more accurate, he thought and for the first time he emerged from the alleyway's shadows and made his way to the building's entrance.


	3. Phantoms

__

Chapter 3: Phantoms

Leonardo's gaze could have burned a hole in the wall if the mutation had affected another gene or two. Instead it burnt a hole in Splinter's heart. Splinter had watched his student sit in his chair for several minutes before he broke his stealth and Leonardo's concentration.

Leonardo's head jerked, "I didn't see you there!"

"Perhaps you were listening to something else."

Leonardo nodded slightly.

Splinter gave Leonardo a knowing smile. "It is not your fault."

"That much I know," replied Leonardo. Splinter heard the snap to the words that Leonardo was fighting to keep away.

"It is not Raphael's fault either."

Leonardo looked up at his master. He looked as if he might challenge the idea, but after a brief pause, nodded gently, "I know."

Splinter stood silently for a minute more. When Leonardo's gaze fell back to a few metres behind the wall he silently departed to check on his other students.

It did not surprise him to find Michaelangelo and Donatello both together, mindlessly talking about anything other than Raphael. He could almost feel the desperation to avoid the topic hanging in the room like a thick fog. He sighed. It seemed hard to believe this is what his makeshift family had been reduced to.

He remembered a time before this, yet it seemed so distant. The transition had been so gradual its presence was only apparent by the stark contrast of months. How long had it all been going through Raphael's head: maybe years?

It was not Raphael's fault, nor was it Leonardo's or Michaelangelo's or Donatello's. Sensibly, he knew it was not his fault either, yet in the same way a parent always agonises over what more could have been done, Splinter felt somewhere it must have resulted from his own action or inaction. After all, Donatello was not out following drunkards through dark alleyways. Logic reminded him that neither was Michaelangelo a scientist nor Donatello a leader. Each member of the family had his own weaknesses and by the same token - strengths.

Logic is a very cold comfort, he mused.

---

Raphael mashed his hand against the intercom and muttered. He was buzzed in seconds later. His unsteady steps fell sloppily on the creaky stairs and several cracks beneath his weight resonated through the building. He continued regardless, barely aware of any noise other than the increasing amount of blood rushing through his ears; his breathing seemed likely to deafen him at any point. The only other sensation which permeated his consciousness was the dampness that hung in the air - the unmistakable smell was something he recognised from the alleyway.

When his feet hit the third floor corridor he shut one eye allowing him to focus on the numbers more easily. He stalked down to the end of the corridor and read the number '9'. His hand rested on the doorknob until it suddenly occurred to him that it might be more appropriate to knock. Of course, this would confront the fears and dreams that lay behind the door much more quickly and leave Brent the opportunity to flat out desert him before even knowing him.

Raphael leaned a little more heavily on the doorknob, indecision now pounding with the blood rushing through his head.

It felt like hours; it was probably seconds.

A door slammed down the corridor, footsteps were heard. "Brent, yo, 'zat you?"

Raphael paused for more than his master would have liked before glancing at the three walls that surrounded him and the darkness containing the mystery voice.

Neurons fired. Raphael ran along the far side of the corridor, flashing past the intrusion of his thoughts. With trained precision, his forearm knocked the intrusion's head into the wall. He did not stick around long enough to hear the groan. He stumbled and tripped down the stairs, all grace and clarity that had immersed him in his attack long departed. He pushed his way out the door, paying no heed to hinges that cracked in their soft bed as he did so. Skidding on the cracked concrete, he tore around the corner into his alleyway.

He collapsed behind a pile of sacks, not caring about the squelching that he heard and felt as he did so. He twisted to his right and emptied his stomach. Then he leaned to his left, resting his head on the sacks. Not caring about the idiocy of such a plan, he opened his eyes only a few times more to relieve the dizziness before being dragged under by the drink and receding levels of adrenaline.

It was still dark when Raphael first stirred. Shadows cast by the few windows still illuminated above disorientated him for a moment. Then he remembered it all - the fight with his family, his rash decision of rushing into Brent's uncertain arms and the intruder who had probably ultimately saved him his existence.

The question of what would have happened still lingered.

Raphael stood up, noting that he was still quite unsteady on his feet. Only the blood seeping in from the cracked skin wet his mouth. Dehydrated, yet damp from the night dew and still feeling very unstable in every sense of the word, Raphael retreated to his lair.

The stillness of his home was disturbing. He wasn't used to the quiet in this place; it was usually disturbed by his brothers or his own distractions. As he tip toed down to his bed he heard a sharp whisper, "Raphael?"

It was Leonardo.

He froze and wondered if he could continue on as if he hadn't heard, or better yet, as if it were one of his brothers. The question was quickly followed by the rustling of blankets and creaking of a bed and Raphael resigned himself to being found out.

"Hey Leo. What's up?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I wanted to apologise. You know I've just been a little worried about everyone lately, given circumstances. I didn't mean to judge you or anything. I'll admit that I just don't understand what this thing with Brent is and it scares me a little. I'm worried about you, that's all, OK?"

"Yeah, whatever, dude. Just remember this next time I _accidentally_ throw you into a wall."

Leonardo smiled. "Next time you try, anyway."

Raphael forced a grin. "By the way, how did you know it was me?"

"I didn't. I've been lying awake all night though. Earlier I apprehended Donny on his way to get a drink - think I scared him into next week."

At that, Raphael let out a genuine burst of laughter, but quickly remembered and collected himself. "Thanks Leo. I'll see you tomorrow huh, I'm fair beat."

"Sure thing, Raph. G'night."

"Night." Raphael slept, not even entertaining the delusion that Leonardo had finished that particular conversation.

---

"Miles! Miles! Wake the fuck up!" Brent crouched in the hallway next to his prostrate friend.

Miles groaned and rolled onto his back. "Brent, yo, what the fuck was that?"

"Dunno, bro, wasn't here. I just got back from town."

"Yeah, I can smell."

"Shut the fuck up, it's not like you're a bowl of roses."

"Whatever, man, just help me up."

Brent offered a hand to Miles. With a grunt Miles pulled himself up, leaning a little too heavily on Brent. The pair thudded back into the wall before letting go and steadying themselves. Seconds later they both realised how funny the whole thing was and cackled far too loudly for the hour of night.

Brent held up his hand, counting down, 5…4…3…2…1…

Miles, still chuckling, raised his eyebrows. "You're losing your touch."

He barely finished his sentence when an older woman stuck her head out of the opposite door. "Would you two boys mind keeping it down. It's past three in the morning."

"Sure thing, sorry Miss Andrews." Brent offered a saccharine smile.

"And Miles dear, I thought I told you to get a haircut."

"I'll shut up, how's that?"

"I guess it'll have to do." With that she shut the door again and lay in bed resigned to listening to the two carry on their night from behind an extra wall.

"You wanna come in for a beer?" Brent asked Miles who was still looking a little dazed.

Miles nodded vaguely then frowned. "Seriously, what was that?"

"What?"

"I'm not that out of it - I wasn't coma-ed. Someone attacked me. I thought it was you."

Brent held his hands up in mock surrender, "Not me, bro, I was at the Caf, most of the night. Come in, have a drink and we can figure it out."

Brent opened the door for Miles and followed him in. As he did so, he couldn't help but defend himself. "She was like three seconds away, you know. Probably standing at the door, just wanting to prove me wrong."

"Yeah, because I'm sure her whole life revolves around proving you wrong."

'You are probably not far wrong,' Brent thought to himself a little sadly. He opened the fridge and took two beers out. Handing one to Miles he changed the topic. "So, what do you remember?"

"I heard someone coming up the stairs, I thought it was you. When I came to greet you gigantor was standing at your door about to go in. He ran and messed me up on the way out. Then you started screaming in my ear."

"Hmm…I'd better start locking my door," Brent replied thoughtfully.

"Whatever bro, this guy looked mean. He even had a mad hunchback or something."

"Drink your beer."

Miles looked down at his untouched bottle. Chugging several mouthfuls back dulled his unvoiced concerns. He had almost said the words. Those words that he himself would easily mock if heard from any mouth other than his own - 'It did not look human.'

Brent noticed the apprehensive look on his friend's face. "Seriously, don't worry about it. It's not like he's gonna come back. You've either had too many or not enough of these," he said, waving his empty beer bottle in the air. As he got up to get another he remembered the large hunched shadow he had once seen moving around in the alleyway outside his window.

"We've been hanging out together far too long, you know," he called over his shoulder. "We're having shared hallucinations."

"Whadya mean?"

"Gigantor hunchback - I think I've seen him."

**__**

Thanks to all those who have reviewed! All comments are greatly appreciated.


	4. Escalation

__

Chapter 4: Escalation

****

As usual, please review! Thanks to those who do.

Raphael was not delusional enough to believe that because Leonardo had apologised for his behaviour, he was similarly apologising for his objections to Brent. He did hope that Leonardo would not seek further resolution to his objections though. It was not as if he had not questioned the validity of his 'friendship' with Brent and having another force such confrontations to his own emotions was certainly an unpleasant experience.

So for the next few days Raphael tried to get home earlier at night, partook diligently in training and acted as if the weeks of tension had been cleared up with a slight scuffle and a few harsh words. His brothers seemed to buy the act, or were similarly keen on avoiding the issue. Whether indifference or fear caused the stand-off, Raphael did not know or care. At any rate, while he did not show it outwardly, his inward world was still revolving around Brent.

He knew Brent's timetable pretty well. It seemed to alternate fortnightly. For a fortnight, he would get up in the morning, usually a few minutes after nine, realise he was late for whatever job he was not holding down for the week and start sifting through the mess in his apartment for his uniform. Whether he would choose a waterbottle or another sip of brandy for breakfast was always unpredictable though. If he made it through the day at work without getting fired he'd come home and sleep on the couch for several hours, before going next door to visit Miles. Where they went from there depended on how drunk they were and how horny they were.

But this week Brent had no job. He had quit his job at the local supermarket after overhearing that he was about to be fired. It had given him a strong sense of satisfaction to quit for once, rather than being fired. He wasn't sure if his caseworker would be pleased or not. Quitting may show lack of dedication, but it was better than being fired for being a drunkard. At any rate, it gave him time to fully concentrate on not working. For weeks like these, he'd sleep until at least midday. He could pick up what was going on in the soap operas pretty quickly. He had even considered putting it on his resume, which, while long, was not entirely impressive.

Today Brent was doing none of these things though. He and Miles had stayed up most of the night making plans to catch Gigantor Hunchback, until the drink finally got the better of them and they had slept in Miles room, should their prey return before they were ready. In their drunken state they had not seen it necessary to justify why they needed to sleep with a chair under the doorhandle.

When Miles was cooking some toast though, he was hit by a sudden realisation.

"BRENT!"

Brent emerged from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, his wet hair clinging to his forehead. "Yo, I'm not deaf, I'm not in China, but I am hungover."

Miles stared at him, incredulous that Brent could remain so calm in the wake of his realisation.

Mistaking his shock for confusion, Brent added, "Headache," he said, pointing to his temple, "Keep it quiet."

"I've got an idea!"

Brent squinted at Miles sceptically.

"Gigantor Hunchback - we can make a lot of money out of him."

"How exactly do you plan to make money out of a big homeless guy who has worse dress sense than you?"

"I don't."

Brent frowned and shook his head. "You're still drunk. Go back to bed, I'll make sure the toast doesn't burn."

"Listen man, I'm serious. People pay to see crazy whacked out shit like this."

"You forget, there are a lot of drunk homeless people on the street that people can look at for free."

"Yeah, but there's only one Gigantor Hunchback."

"Miles, it's a creepy guy who was looking for crack money."

"But they don't have to know that!"

"Bro, you're crazy. You cannot convince many people of that. Besides, he probably isn't coming back after last night."

"Yeah, after beat on him real good," Miles groaned sarcastically, wondering if Brent could see that massive lump forming on the side of his skull beneath his waves of curly hair.

"Go to bed, Miles. I'll finish breakfast."

"That I won't complain about, but I still think it's a good idea."

"Look, how about we wait to see if he even comes back first. Then we can think about selling our exciting story to every paper in the country."

"So we're gonna wait for him tonight."

"Well keep our eyes open."

"You're always such a downer," Miles grumbled, but the allure of a bed was greater than that of finishing the conversation and he trudged towards the bedroom.

He lay down for a few minutes before he heard a loud bang and an even louder expletive. "Brent, you OK, bro?"

"Ah, yeah, just…ahhh…fucked up my foot."

"You're still drunk aren't you?"

"Uh…no."

Miles got up and took the frying pan out of Brent's hand. "You got to bed, I'll cook the eggs."

Brent smiled, "You'd best be, bitch."

"Watch your mouth. Don't go forgetting who's got the frying pan."

Brent wisely retired.

---

Raphael looked around the room. He had to admit that as far as guilt free pleasures went this was pretty high up on the list. Donatello sat in the corner reading an academic journal, glancing up every now and then at the movie that Michaelangelo and Leonardo were watching. The same movie that he had been pretending to watch for the last twenty minutes. Despite the amicable environment, he had still been trying to figure out a way to excuse himself without another confrontation like last time.

Maybe he'd just have to wait until everyone went to bed again.

---

On the other side of town, Brent and Miles sat watching the same movie. Nearing the end of the movie, Miles was beginning to get frustrated with the lack of excitement. Putting his drink down on the table at his side he went over and looked out Brent's small window. "You reckon you saw this guy down there?" he asked, waving a hand vaguely downwards.

Brent turned his head over his shoulder, "Uh, yeah."

Miles peered out of the window, but could barely see past his own reflection. He held his hands up blocking the light out and brought his head closer. Dissatisfied with the results he wandered over to the door and flicked off the lights before heading back to the window.

Brent sat watching the movie unaffected by Miles' restlessness.

The screech of tires and gunfire could be heard. Miles turned towards the television to confirm the source of the noise. His interest piqued by the action, he dropped down on the couch next to Brent again. "Whaddya reckon, eight and a half?"

"No way, definitely a nine."

Miles shrugged in a non-committal fashion and re-immersed himself in the movie.

When the credits started to roll Miles got restless again. He paced between the door and the window, peaking out each in turn. Brent sat flicking through the channels, ignoring his friend until the pacing got to be too much for him to bear. "Miles, sit down man, he's not coming back."

"Easy enough for you to say, man, but I got a score to settle with this guy."

"Is that what this is about? You just don't want to admit that you got floored by an old homeless drunk?"

"Shut up!"

"Why should I? You're wearing a hole in my floor."

"How long ago did you see him?"

"A while back, Miles, jeez, will you sit down!"

Miles sat on the couch looking like a nine had just stood him up. Then the knock came. He looked excitedly at Brent, who told him to settle down and reminded him that burglars did not knock.

Brent jumped over the back of the couch and opened the door.

A girl only a few years older than Brent was standing there, with thick eyeliner and tight jeans flaring out from under her long coat.

Miles noticed her and jumped up. "Hey Janelle, hows it?"

"Oh great thanks, just got off work. You know how much I love old drunk guys grabbing at my ass."

Miles wisely changed the subject. "Did you manage to find one?"

"Yeah," I want it back though. "By the way, this place is not on my way. You at least owe me a cigarette, I'm out."

Miles patted himself down, but found none. Brent scanned his cluttered kitchen counter before finally finding a pack. He handed it to her and sat back down on the couch, flicking through channels again while Miles and Janelle mumbled in the corridor for a few more minutes.

"What was that about?" Brent asked, when Miles returned alone.

"Well, I sorta rung this tabloid today, after you went to bed. The lady didn't believe me, but said that if I could get some pictures, she'd meet me. Jan used to do photography, so she loaned me a camera."

"Miles, you're a retard."

"What? Why?"

"Give it up already, this is going to be the hardest quick buck you ever make."

"That depends."

"On what?"

"How good you are at looking like Gigantor Hunchback."

"No way, I want nothing to do with this."

"Well then I guess we just have to wait for the real thing to turn up."

Brent nodded towards Miles' drink. "Chop that, might speed up the process."

Miles scowled lightly.

---

A few hours later Miles had long since forgotten the camera sitting on the table behind them. But during one of his periodic checks out the window he quickly beckoned Brent over. "Brent, yo, what do you think that is?"

Brent peeked out the window, suddenly glad that Miles had turned the light off, yet scolding himself simultaneously for allowing himself to be swept up in Miles' delusions. "What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"Quick, grab the torch and the camera." Miles quickly obeyed his own instructions, throwing Brent the torch, who fumbled then caught it.

When they threw the window open they heard a start of movement in the alleyway. Intoxicated by the excitement, Brent shone the torch down, catching a large green figure. Miles shakily fiddled with the focus before Brent hissed at him to just take a picture. By the time he heard the shutter go off, he could not catch anything of interest with the torch.

The two fell back into the apartment, exhausted by the sudden burst of energy. Leaning up against the wall, Brent shined the torch into Miles' eyes before shutting it off. Miles stared dumbly at the camera.

"Did you get a picture?" Brent asked.

"I…I don't know, don't think so," Miles replied.

"It was just a homeless guy, right?" Brent asked.

"I think so," Miles replied.

"It did look sorta…green…though, right?" Brent asked.

"Yeah, I think so," Miles replied.

The two returned their gaze to the implements in their hands. Each wondering, perhaps hoping, that this would seem a little more ludicrous in the morning.

---

Raphael slammed his fist into the brick wall of the sewer. One second - that second of indecision. All his insecurities and desires had flashed past him and it had taken one second too long. He should have run as soon as he heard the commotion. There was that second though, where he had considered that maybe this was how he and Brent would finally meet.

He had heard a camera. He could only hope that he had fled in time.

The speed at which it had happened had left him a victim to his own reactive instincts and he had ended up here. Only now could he question his idiocy. Only now did he begin to realise the full implications of what he was doing and what he was risking. The wave of realisation was sickening and tonight, even the sewer air smelled just a little more caustic.


	5. Gigantor Hunchback

__

Chapter 5: Gigantor Hunchback

Raphael did not see any of his brothers that night when he returned home. He had almost wished he had. He found himself wishing for a confrontation, maybe a scuffle, maybe something more. Punishment was what he thought he was after, but was looking for penance - something to resolve the last few months.

Beneath the fear was an intolerable hurt. The person he had turned to in his loneliness, the person who he believed could maybe understand what it was to be the stains on society, had mocked him. To Brent he was another spectacle. While Raphael understood that Brent was never really a friend, the idea had lived in his head for so long, he had been vaguely convinced of its reality, or perhaps even its possibility. He had lost that which he had relied on for so long and was now more alone than ever.

And it stung.

When he finally reached his bed, he rested heavily for a minute, before releasing a small whimper of frustration and angrily pulling the blankets well over his head. It was many hours before he was finally overcome by a fitful sleep.

The next morning Raphael got up and ate a hurried, silent breakfast before announcing that he was going out for a quick patrol. For once, he had not intention of turning a quick patrol into a long melancholy visit to a glowing window.

Periodically, he would pass under a grate or pipe and several times he could hear the paperboys on the street corners selling papers. Every time he heard them talking about the latest scandal in the Mayor's office he felt a touch of relief. The fact that this was about as deep as the news ever got disturbed him slightly, but for once he was just happy to hear that they were not discussing mutant turtles living in the sewers, coming out only to stalk innocent victims.

His thoughts continually wandered back to Brent, insisting that the only reason he had been hurt was because Brent just had not been given a chance to understand yet. He had accepted that this hypothesis would likely never be tested now, but it did serve as a small balm to the anxiety that had hit him with full force. However, he quickly herded such thoughts out of his consciousness, trying to focus on the pressing issue - if his family should be informed.

If he told them what had happened now, maybe they could get a stitch in time. Of course, maybe Brent, despite all his talents, was a terrible photographer and there really was nothing to worry about. If that were the case then he could just quietly learn from his mistake and carry on with his life. His brother's would no doubt be pleased to see him settle back into their secluded family life. Things never seemed to work out nicely for him though - it was almost as if he were the star of a weekly television show, where at least one thing had to turn his world upside down for a period of at least half an hour a week. They could probably make a movie out of this one.

His decision made, was finalised when he arrived back at the lair. When he saw everyone gathered around the table, his blood felt as if it were coagulating in his veins.

"Guys?" he asked, terrified of the answer.

He noticed that his brothers avoided his eyes. When Michelangelo shifted slightly, he noticed that April was sitting behind him. Splinter was the first to break the silence. To Raphael, it felt like an eternity later. "Raphael, I believe we are long overdue for a discussion."

Raphael nodded mutely, looking like a scolded child, but feeling as if the last of his sanity had just been blown out into the sewer with a cold breeze. While ready to listen, he liked his close proximity to the door, so did not move. "Sensei, I think I know what this is about."

He was quickly interrupted. "Really? You do, do you? Here was me thinking that you were absolutely clueless to the sort of danger you were putting us all in, but since you realised exactly what you were doing then I guess that's much better!"

"Mikey, your anger isn't going to help." The comment could have almost come from Splinter, but the voice was easily recognised as Leonardo's. If Splinter was surprised, he did not show it.

"Raph, you know they've got pictures right?" April asked, leaning from behind Michelangelo again.

Raphael's jaw suddenly felt very heavy, he stuttered for words as the heaviness sunk to his stomach.

The expression of desolation must have touched at least one nerve with his brothers, because their faces relaxed into a display of pity rather than anger. It only served to deepen Raphael's guilt.

"Guys, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I really…I just…God! I don't know what I was thinking. I'm just…so sorry."

"Raphael, it is good that you understand the severity of what has occurred, but it is not the time to be concerned with apologies. What has been done cannot be undone. We must find a way to best deal with the situation."

"How bad is it?" Raphael asked, regaining his composure.

April chipped in again, sounding unusually bright for the circumstances. "The guy isn't a photographer, that much I can tell you. But that fact that Steven brought it to my attention means that someone is taking it reasonably seriously. Maybe such ideas have been mentioned in the tabloids just a little too much recently."

"But the pictures, how clear are they?"

"Well…umm…"

"What?"

"The thing is, the one thing working for us, is that the guy is obviously in it for the money." Nobody in the room other than Raphael could perceive the additional torment that was thrust on Raphael with those words. April continued, unknowingly, "He won't actually show anyone the pictures until they pay up."

Donatello broke his long silence to add his analysis. "But surely nobody will take that seriously, I mean, he's a drunk and he's broke." Raphael noted that Donatello was carefully avoiding eye contact.

"Someone has though." April countered.

The room was filled with a thoughtful silence.

"Is the story set to be released?" Donatello finally asked.

"Word on the street is that one of the tabloids has already paid up. Gigantor Hunchback has attracted attention, but is still largely controversial. But there are a lot of papers out there that don't actually care about the validity of anything they report, so I guess his motivation was irrelevant."

Michelangelo could not hide his snicker at the mention of the title April used. 'I'll have to save that one for when this has all blown over,' he thought.

"So there's no hope of destroying the pictures then. By this time tomorrow, there'll be thousands of copies printed." Donatello stated, not a tone of question in his voice.

"So what are we thinking then?" Leonardo asked. "Damage control? April, you're in the business, surely you can do something to discredit the claims."

"To even mention them in the mainstream press would only validate the claims further. Maybe the best strategy is to try and keep any mention of it out."

Leonardo nodded in agreement. "So what do we do then, sensei? We can't just ignore it and hope it goes away. The last time there was a vague mention of us we had a few close calls with people out turtle hunting."

Splinter paused briefly, carefully composing a response. "I believe that we need to talk to Brent."

Raphael's next coherent moment occurred several minutes after he had rushed out of the lair. His brothers and April had all jumped up to go after him. Splinter had shook his head and turned to Leonardo, "I think that it is best that you go, Leonardo." The hurt looks on the other's faces had not been overlooked, "He is dealing with some strong conflicting emotions and I have just asked him to confront the reality of a large comfort in his life. I believe it is best if we do not crowd him at this time."

April would later ask Splinter if he really thought that talking to Brent would solve anything. His simple reply would be "Everything."

Raphael did not get past the first few corners before he heard the running steps slapping on the wet concrete.

"Raph!"

Raphael was not at all surprised to hear Leonardo's voice. "You're just trying to make me realise aren't you? You want me to understand that really, I am all alone except for you guys."

"No Raph, you know that's not it. You've just shown me that you do understand exactly what you've done and for me, that's enough. Believe it or not, you're my brother and I care that you're hurting. So let me help."

"What, so you can run off and feel a lot better about yourself. 'Gee, I'm so glad that I'm not as messed up as Raphael is, but boy, I really am a good guy because I talked to him.' Well bro, let me tell you, you know NOTHING!"

"You're so damn involved in your own little world, aren't you? Couldn't care less if maybe we know what we're talking about, that maybe we say things for reasons other than to hurt you? Well, you know what, Raph. You don't want our help, then fine! You fix this! The whole damn mess. You want to be a lone ranger, then go for it. Because I'm past caring."

"So, that's it then. You can abandon your own brother like that, not a second thought?"

"No!" Leonardo yelled. "No," he repeated collecting himself, "He abandoned me."

"What are you talking about Leo, I'm still here. And I'm trying, really, I am, but I'm lonely, you know? Real lonely. Brent helps that."

"I know." Leo stated simply.

"Do you really? I mean you've got your whole life together, you're happy with living in the sewers, talking to the same tiny collect group of people every single day. But I'm not like any of you, I want someone to relate to."

"If this is what you relate to, then Brent is the least of our worries."

"SHUT UP!" Raphael jumped at Leonardo, swinging a hot fist toward him.

Leonardo blocked the attack and swiftly landing a counter-attack squarely in Raphael's gut.

Raphael stumbled back a few steps, out of Leonardo's reach. Leonardo made no attempt to close the gap. "You know what, dude, you may be stronger than me, but you sure as hell aren't any smarter."

Still slightly winded, Raphael stared heavily into Leonardo's eyes. For a moment Leonardo held his gaze before turning and leaving his brother alone in the sewer.

As soon as Raphael was sure Leonardo was long gone he dropped to the ground allowing himself to breathe a little more heavily. He drew his knees up and rested his head on his hands.

For the first time in a long time, he felt truly alone.

He did not realise that was not entirely true.

A long shadow drew out across his line of vision. He traced it back to his master, Splinter. Raphael realised that he felt ashamed to be seen by his master and not entirely because of what had just happened. He realised that this kind individual who had taken him in as a defenceless child and raised him to become a turtle with a future was now in danger because of his own selfishness and inability to see that which lay before him.

Splinter looked down at Raphael; far from oblivious to the repentance that was beginning to take hold. Splinter knew that Raphael's brothers would need some time before able to forgive Raphael for what he had done and until they were able to do that, Raphael would otherwise be alone.

So Splinter gently sat down next to Raphael. "We have dealt with problems of this kind before, Raphael."

"Not this bad though," he muttered.

Splinter chose to ignore the rudeness. "You should listen to your brother. He knows what he is talking about."

"Yeah, I know OK, I screwed up, badly. I get it, OK?"

"You did not listen to him. He was not trying to place blame on you, he was trying to help you."

"So what, you were listening?" Raphael asked a little incredulously.

Splinter nodded slightly.

"And you didn't intervene. I thought that violence did not solve emotional problems."

"Was I correct?"

Raphael rubbed his plastron idly. "Yes, sensei."

Splinter smiled slightly. "You listen to me, yet you test the ideas I offer you anyway."

"Yeah, sorry about that," he said genuinely.

"Do not apologise. It is good that you do not blindly believe. That is what we call a fool."

"It would probably hurt a lot less if I had just done what you all said though." Raphael said, his words thick with melancholy.

"That is usually the case." Splinter smiled slightly. When Raphael said nothing in reply, he continued, "You should listen to your brother, he knows what he is talking about."

"We've been there already, I know."

"But you still haven't listened."

"OK, OK, I'll listen to Leo."

"Good. Shall we return to the lair then? It is not a good idea to be too far from home at times such as these."

Raphael nodded mutely and pondered on what had been said to him. Splinter was right, if he would stop resisting all the help offered to him, perhaps there could be a way out of this.

But would it be another of these hard lessons?

**__**

Thanks to all the reviewers!!


End file.
